l the war was end'. I carry all his meals to him an' tell him all the
news. Master show was a frighten' man; I was sorry for him. That battle
at Richmond, Virginia was the wors' in American history.

Dr. George W. Jones, my master, ran a blockade. He had ships roamin' the
sea to capture pirates ships. He had a daughter, Ellen, who was always
kin' to the slaves. Master had a driver, William Jenkins, an' an' a'
overseer, Henry Brown. Both was white. The driver see that the work was
done by the supervision of the overseer. Master' fa'm amounted to
twenty-five acres with 'bout eighteen slaves. The overseer blow the
ho'n, which was a conch shell, at six in the mornin' an' every slave
better answer w'en the roll was call' at seven. The slaves didn't have
have to work on Sat'day.

Mr. Ryan had a private jail on Queen Street near the Planters Hotel. He
was very cruel; he'd lick his slaves to death. Very seldom one of his
slaves survive' a whippin'. He was the opposite to Govenor Aiken, who
live' on the North-West corner of Elizabeth an' Judith Streets. He had
several rice plantations, hundreds of his slaves he didn't know.

Not 'til John C. Calhoun' body was carried down Boundry Street was the
name change' in his honor. He is bury in St. Phillip Church yard, 'cross
the street with a laurel tree planted at his head. Four men an' me dig
his grave an' I clear' the spot w'ere his monument now stan'. The
monument was put up by Pat Callington, a Charleston mason. I never did
like Calhoun 'cause he hated the Negro; no man was ever hated as much as
him by a group of people.

The Work House (Sugar House) was on Magazine Street, built by Mr.
Columbus C. Trumbone. On Charlmer Street is the slave market from which
slaves was taken to Vangue Range an' auctione' off. At the foot of
Lawrence Street, opposite East Bay Street, on the other side of the
trolly tracks is w'ere Mr. Alonze White kept an' sell slaves from his
kitchen. He was a slave-broker who had a house that exten' almos' to the
train tracks which is 'bout three hundred yards goin' to the waterfront.
No train or trolly tracks was there then 'cause there was only one
railroad here, the Southern, an' the depot was on Ann Street w'ere the
Baggin' Mill now is.

W'en slaves run away an' their masters catch them, to the stockade they
go w'ere they'd be whipp' every other week for a number of mornins. An'
de for God sake don' you be cotch with pencil an' paper, dat was a major
crime.